A Mild Case Of Insanity
by DrayMiaOnly
Summary: "An epilogue to their twisted lifestyle; the benediction to come together and unite as one because sometimes, just sometimes, two wrongs can make a right." *Sam/Dean* WINCEST.
1. Stumble And Fall

**A/N:** To be honest... I love my story. I hope y'all will too. It's vaguely based on the following quote:_ "Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like a thorn." - W. Shakespeare, Romeo & Juliet_

**Story Details:** Takes place after 2x02 "Everybody Loves a Clown" and before 2x03 "Bloodlust", when the boys where stuck to South Dakota for approximately 4 weeks, in order to repair the Impala.

I am aware that the song "The Day That Never Comes" by _Metallica_ was released on 2008, but if you could just ignore that the brothers are listening to it 2 years prior to that date... it would be great!

**Disclaimer:** I DO NOT own Sam and/or Dean, but, *drums, please* I DO OWN Jeremiah 'The Bartender' (and, oh yeah, he's as cool as he sounds!)

**Warnings:** Rated M for profanity and **Incest** .

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><p>Part I<em>: <em>Stumble and Fall

_Devils Lake, North Dakota Mid November - Early December, 2006_

Rumors had it, that there was a section, about 5 meters long, on the road that led from Webster to Devils Lake where cars mysteriously ceased to function. The engines would die and one had to push the car further down the road, in order to manage to restart it.

The local residents, accustomed to this fact, gave no importance to it, but, some teenagers, with too much time and imagination, had began to disseminate widely that the place was haunted.

Sam, even though he had suspicions that all this fuss was caused because of large quantity of magnet alloy, inside the territory, over which the road was located, suggested to Dean they should check the area anyway. It was an opportunity, since they'd be nearby for some time and they had nothing else to do.

Dean, who was the type of guy to comply with the phrase 'better be safe, than sorry', agreed and so the two brothers, after provisionally renting a car (to Dean's great grief), had headed to North Dakota for another gig; one which would probably result to be coal instead of treasure.

Sam was in charge of driving them around with a sapphire 1969 Dodge Charger they had rented, since Dean tenaciously refused to touch anything with wheels while 'his baby was wounded'.

Once again though, Sam wasn't allowed to choose the music, Dean using as excuse that _a)_ Sam's taste in music, and many other things that were irrelevant at the moment, was awful and _b)_ he was psychologically traumatized, because of the situation with Chevy and he needed something to cheer him up (preferably Metallica, due to his agitation). Sam, ever the willing to ease his brother's pain, kindly told Dean to 'fuck off, stop complaining and push the damn play already'.

Flakes of snow were falling gently from the sky, clean and transparent to the point where they were indistinguishable for the brothers. Silence was enveloping them, inside the car's limited space, except for Dean's humming, along with the radio, to the lyrics of 'The Day That Never Comes'; his voice softly filling the air around, and acting more like a consistency of the quietness than a cessation.

"How 'bout we go out for a few drinks, tonight? Ya know, have a little fun, since we are, apparently, off duty?" Dean asked suddenly, averting his gaze from counting trees, as they surpassed the forest.

Sam sighed. He didn't like it, he decided, being the driver. It was as dull as a chore would have been for him, not to mention this was Dean's seat -no, it was more like... Dean's throne or something; his natural habitat.

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Sam responded without paying much attention.

Truth was, knowing Dean's definition for the words 'let's have fun', which meant getting drunk and getting laid (and not necessarily in that order), Sam wasn't up for it. In fact, Sam would rather stay at their motel room, reading a book to kill the time, until it would be late enough to go to sleep.

"Would it kill you, to show some enthusiasm?" Dean huffed, staring at his brother intently, as if willing with his mind for Sam to cheer out loud for the wonderful idea Dean just had.

"Uh-huh." Sam mumbled, as Dean's face scowled at him with enervation. Being a primarily physical creature, Dean punched Sam's shoulder, as if to prove his frustration.

"What the hell, you moron?" Sam yelled after making a dangerous maneuver, to reintroduce the car to drive straight, having deviate from his steady route with the sudden assault. Another reason right there! Sam is _not_ supposed to drive and damn it, if everything weren't upside down today.

"Now that I have your undivided attention," Dean said lightly, as if he hadn't almost caused an accident, "will you explain to me why you've been behaving like a damn zombie, lately?"

Shit. What was Sam supposed to say to that? That he's been plagued by daydreams and such vivid thoughts, about stuff he wasn't allowed to have (or want, for that matter), and _that_ had resulted into him becoming an insomniac? Oh, yeah, Dean would love that answer! In fact, he'd never let Sam forget about it. He really wouldn't!

"Wha? Uh, yeah, no, I'm fine. Just tired. Need some sleep, I guess." And perhaps a lobotomy. Who knows? It might actually help and Sam could stop behaving like a total creep.

"You sure? Is there something bothering you?" Dean inquired.

"Everything's fine, Dean." Sam deadpanned, keeping his eyes strictly on the road ahead of him. He always did have trouble with lying straight to his brother's face.

"Hmm." Dean stared at him, judging whether or not Sam was lying and Sam tried to keep his rising panic at bay. One of the rare times he honestly doesn't want to talk about it and Dean suddenly becomes Oprah. Nice.

Four hours, numerous measurements of the subsoil with excise sensors to make sure there was nothing other than magnets hidden behind this stupid 'case' they had taken, and a headache later... Sam was beat and eager to pass out on his uncomfortable motel bed. Dean, naturally, even though Sam thought he looked as tired as Sam felt himself, had other ideas.

"Alright, let's wrap it up and head back at the motel. You need a shower, Samantha." Dean said, mockingly sniffing at Sam and theatrically waving his hand to clear the air in front of his nose.

"S'not as if you smell like roses, jerk." Sam coiled deeper inside his jacket, suddenly feeling insecure, beside himself.

"Bitch." Dean retorted, winking at Sam and looking pleased with himself. "Then, we'll go get smashed!" He announced proudly, and Sam stared at him like he had gone crazy. "Don't look at me like that, brother. I'll drag your ass with me, if I have to, and you know it." He said to counter Sam's bitchface.

Sam sighed tiredly, quietly accepting his doom.

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><p>The bar was the perfect specimen of Dean's usual choices. The music was grotesquely loud, the space was crammed with trifling intoxicated people and perky waitresses, with big titslustful smiles, where roaming around the crowd offering drinks and, occasionally, their company.

The place was old, dusty and messy as if no one cared about it's fate. It looked as if drinkers and drinkers had spent their nights at the ramshackle tables, each with their own unsolved problem, trying to numb themselves into alcoholic bliss. All the while, their only achievement was to imbue their surroundings with despair and a nasty dose of repressed sexual tension.

Sam could almost feel the impact of all these lost souls that had sat onto his seat, for tonight, before him; it all added up to Sam's own conflicted issues, making him feel suffocated.

Not longer than thirty minutes, since they had arrived and Dean had already found an opponent for pool and a blonde bimbo to cheer him.

Sam sighed, staring at the floor, as if it was the most interesting attraction this den had to offer, with something resembling hope inside his eyes; thinking wistfully that if he could look at it for enough time, the floor would spare him and give him a clue, or two, about what to do to come out of his misery.

After a couple of beers and too many shots to count, Sam faded to the background becoming one more figure to add to the rest of the tortured extras around him.

It's funny, well, no, no not really, but Sam can at least appreciate the irony of finally understanding that old saying 'misery loves company' or some other philosophical shit like that.

"Life sucks." Sam said to himself out loud, glaring at Dean's direction, whom was currently heavily making-out with Blondie-my-IQ's-ratio-is-even-lower-than-my-dignity-McBust. Downing another shot of tequila, Sam motioned for the bartender to fetch him another one.

"Yes, at times." The barman decided to respond, even though it was obvious that Sam hadn't meant to get involved in any kind of pointless conversation.

"Do you know how many of those you had?" He asked Sam, nodding his head towards the shot he placed in front of the young hunter.

"No." Sam huffed, wondering why was the man talking to him when he had made sure to let everyone around him know that he wasn't up for socializing.

"Ah, I take it you have problems in the love field." The barman said undaunted, ignoring Sam's effort to tune him out.

Sam sent him his best death-glare, spontaneously evaluating the man on the other side of the counter - what can he say? blame the hunter's reflex.

The man was approximately 43-45 years old, kind of short, with a large forehead that indicated he had already started loosing his hair; lean body type, seemingly weak muscles, and he was wearing clothes that Sam thought would match a waiter at a high-class restaurant, rather than this pit.

Sam had heard how barkeepers supposedly knew everything, which was logical if one considered that their job involved interacting with all types of people and that they had probably heard countless stories and had dealt with all kinds of situations.

Well, it made sense he picked up on Sam's general mood, but Sam would bet the man could never guess the real nature of his problem. And if he could, he would become so disgusted he would end up throwing Sam out of the place.

"Look, man, if you think we're about to dive into this big conversation/confession where I tell you my problems and you say something along the lines of 'everything will work out, don't give up yet' and shit like that, I should warn you that _this_", Sam pointed at himself frantically, "is unlike anything you've heard before."

The man smiled ironically, seemingly saying 'I've heard that speech many times before and it has yet to impress me' and Sam wanted to punch him, because he was certain that yes, he had heard it before, but, this was probably the only time in this man's life where he had the truly/honestly/no-shitting-you _real deal_ in front of him.

This wasn't about a wife that had cheated, or getting fired, or debts and no income to cover them. These would be an excursion in comparison with Sam's situation.

"Try me, kid." The man insisted defiantly, and Sam briefly entertained the thought of really telling him what was going on, just to see the dumbfounded look on the man's face.

"I'm in love." Sam started from the basics, saying the words like those were the taboo and not the _object_ of his affection.

"Why do you people always say this as if it's a bad thing, I'll never know." The barman said looking amused (fucking amused!). Was he trying to get himself beated into a pulp?

"Listen, son. I don't know why everyone thinks Love is something filled with rainbows and unicorns, that makes you daydream, unreasonably sigh, and be abnormally joyful all the time. It's not that simple."

'_Why not?_' Sam thought. Songs and movies, make Love appear as something that makes you strong, confident, and feel like you could conquer the world if you wanted to. He was about to ask out loud, but the man continued.

"Love cripples you, burns you, breaks you... It makes you feel like you're unable to breathe, like you can't swallow, like you are someplace dark while suffering from nyctophobia. It's more often than not unrequited; sometimes cruel, or harmful even."

The man paused and sucked a generous amount of air, "And when she looks inside your eyes... none of these matter at all. Warmth and a tingling sensation would flood your body, your heart would beat faster and your lips would curve in a smile unintentionally."

Sam gaped with renewed interest.

Yes! Oh god, yes! It hurt, it hurt so fucking bad! It was as if Sam had a double personality. Sam would be gloom, sad, almost depressed, when _he_ wasn't around. And the moment he would appear, all of Sam's problems seemed to melt away.

And Sam hated it. He hated him. No, he couldn't. He loved him; almost inadvertently. But Sam hated the power he had upon him. He hated that it took one of his smiles, or an imitation of a hug, or even a lingering glance from him, and Sam would suddenly transform into the happiest person alive.

Mostly, he hated feeling completely useless. This felt kinda like a hunt, only there's no bad guy to kill. Sam had to be patient so that, maybe, he could fight this off, put it behind him and hope he'll be fine in the long term.

Problem is, Sam's never been too good with patience, playing it cool and hosting a poker face. That's always been Dean's area of expertise. To Sam, this whole thing, was causing fear and frustration and, damn it, he wished he could just go to sleep forever, forget these hopeless feelings, and make everything go away.

"It's...uh... it's not a girl, I'm in love with." He found himself saying, lowering his voice and his head unwittingly and staring at his hands; not even daring to as much as glance at Dean's direction.

"These days? You should be proud it's a _person_!" the man exclaimed and Sam frowned purplexed.

"I'm telling you", the man nodded his head, ostensibly convinced that he was right, "I've seen people in love with money, fame, power... even in love solely with themselves. If you can look at me and say that you honestly love someone, then all I care to say is congratulations."

Sam's lips quirked up into a small smile, but all he could do was stare at the man sadly. If only it could be that simple. "What's your name?" Sam asked.

"Jeremiah." The bartender extended his hand for Sam to shake.

"I'm Sam." Sam answered truthfully; it didn't seem fair to give Jeremiah an alias.

But he had to leave, because this man was unusually understanding, and if Sam was to stay any longer, he would end up telling Jeremiah everything (or, even worse, he'd get his hopes up). Besides, a bartender could only give one customer a few minutes of his time; unless you were the last one left and the place was closing. Alas, it was only 12.30 pm and the place would be full for several hours still.

It had nothing to do with Dean currently dry humping Blondie-Wild-Things-Volumes1&2. It's not like it was a painful sight to watch. No, really, it wasn't.

Argh! Okay, fine, Sam's lying (and yes, even he is shocked by that fact). It hurt. _Badly_! Happy?

"How much do I owe you?" Sam asked and Jeremiah nodded as if he knew Sam couldn't talk, about the topic they'd been discussing, furthermore.

After paying for his drinks, Sam nodded his thanks, glared at the general direction of his brother and left.

Sam had barely managed to take a few steps away from the bar, when someone grabbed his shoulder.

"Dude, you leave and you don't even tell me? How many times do I have to remind you that we must know each other's location at all times, Sam?" Dean asked, angrily tugging at Sam's arm.

"I got bored and you were... preoccupied." Sam answered, surprised that Bimbo wasn't hanging from his brother's arm. In fact she was nowhere in sight. Weird.

Dean spaced out for a while and Sam jerked away from him disgusted. Dean was thinking about SlutyMcSkank; the fucking asshole.

"I'm leaving. If you need me, and I strongly doubt it, you know where to find me." Sam spat, more angry with himself than with Dean. There was no reason for Sam to be acting like a jealous boyfriend. Apparently, the phrase '_Dean isn't yours to claim!_', which is what Sam's brain was currently shouting inside his head, meant nothing to him.

"Hell no. First you're gonna tell me what are you pissed at me for." Dean demanded stepping in front of Sam, effectively blocking his way.

Sam sighed. "If I tell you, you're just gonna make fun of me." Or beat the shit out of him. Or both. It'd depend on Dean's mood, really.

"Sam," Dean sighed "I'm your _brother_. I'm gonna make fun of you anyway." He said wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Sam's rational part knew he'd be in deep shit if he was to tell Dean the reason he's mad at him. "You dragged me into that dump and I came without protest, even though I was exhausted, and then you abandoned me, the minute you got a _distraction_." He ended up saying, which wasn't really a lie, just, partly, a manipulation of the truth.

Dean stared at him dumbfounded. "Man, you know I always take care of you, but you need to step up and provide for yourself sometimes. You can't be seriously expecting me to hook you up while I'm working to get myself a little treat!" He said exasperated.

Sam threw up inside his mouth a little bit. Glaring daggers at Dean, Sam didn't even bother to answer. He just turned to leave, before he ends up doing something stupid. Like launching at Dean to punch the life out of him.

Dean grabbed his shoulder and span him around again. Sam was instantly pissed off. "What the fuck, Dean? Quit manhandling me!" He pushed his brother away.

"Not until you talk to me, Sam. You're freaking me out, okay? I'm not an idiot! Something's wrong with you, lately. You don't sleep, you get easily irritated," Dean was wildly gesturing with his hands, like he didn't know what to do, "And I could swear that I heard you _crying_ in the shower, last night!" Dean fixed Sam with a glare, as if trying to force an explanation out of Sam's mouth, whether Sam wanted to give one or not.

"Now, a part of me is dying to make fun of all these girlish bullshit, but, I'm in a good mood, and I'll just choose to be your awesome brother. So, care to tell me what's wrong, bitch?" Dean asked, clearing his throat to get Sam's attention, while Sam avoided eye-contact with him.

This is the exact point where Sam should laugh hysterically, and yell something like 'Dude! Me? Crying? What the hell are you talking about?' but, thing is, Sam's tired of Dean's nonchalance. Plus, Dean's ignorance, of the fact that _he_ is the one causing Sam's abnormal behavior, is driving Sam insane.

"Alright, Dean, you want answers? You'll have them. But, not until you face up to _your_ problem." Because it's a problem and it affects them both, even if Dean doesn't know that. Sam's sick of Dean's... ways of relieving some tension in between their hunts, to put it mildly.

Dean stared at him stunned for a few seconds. "_My_ problem? And what's that?"

When Sam quietly growled, realization seemed to dawn on him. "You mean you cock blocking me, back there? You've been doing that for years." Dean laughed casually, dismissing the thought. "Besides, that's another one of your problems, not mine. I can always get someone else, ya know?" He gestured at himself as if the reason was obvious. With that face and body, well, yes, it was _obvious_. Punching-Sam-on-the-jaw-with-an-uppercut, spitting-on-Sam's-neck, kicking-at-Sam's-balls, obvious.

"Your obsession with sex, needs to stop, Dean. Waitresses, barmaids, god knows who else -anyone that _breathes_ makes the cut, so long as it's not real." Sam made a disgusted grimace.

"_Real_? Sam, considering our lifestyle, the span of the 'real' you're talking about would be a week. At best. So, what's the point?" Dean looked at him expectantly.

"Oh, I think 'real' is in your face every day, but you're just too much of a coward to admit it!" Sam was on the verge of punching some sense into his brother's head. It was like Sam was holding a giant neon-red arrow spelling REAL and pointing straight at him and Dean was blind to it.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, dude, so save your breath." And Sam would, save his breath that is, if he didn't know his brother like the back of his hand.

You see, Dean, when he really has no idea what's going on, or when the truth isn't close to whatever the other person is saying, would be passive at this point. He would be calm and collected and probably asking what Sam wanted for dinner, or something equally disorientating.

But, Dean's posture? With all the clenched muscles, squared shoulders and gritted teeth? Oh, he knew what Sam was talking about, alright. The fucking chicken!

"Really, Dean? Really?" Sam says, pulling Dean close and sweeping a knowing hand across his chest.

Dean gasped, even more shocked when Sam yanked him up against his chest and ran a finger across his cheek. Dean's a good actor, Sam decided. But how he expected to keep Sam from feeling Dean _shiver_ against him, Sam will never know.

Sam has always been the observational one, and, although he may be an idiot when it comes to noticing things about Dean, at times, he has a knack for knowing the things Dean doesn't want him to know.

"Sam! Have you lost your goddamned mind?" Dean's hunter-sharp reflexes had Sam pinned against the Dodge's hood, which was parked outside of the bar, before Sam had the time to blink.

"I don't know what you're trying to do here, but you need to back off before you really get on my nerves!" He squeezed Sam's arms, bended on an awkward angle behind Sam's back, for emphasis. "Now, cut it out and let's go get some food. Aye?"

Sam sighed and nodded, and Dean released him.

Goodbye progress, hello point-zero. Again. That's Dean for you: deny everything, admit nothing, and always make counter accusations.

This is what happens every time they attempt to solve their issues. They blur out things they're not supposed to and when they get close to either fight or make a huge revelation, they physically cancel each other out. Sam had actually expected a punch along with the restriction, for good measure.

Sam and Dean, they operate for one another like magnets. Together, they produce a magnetic field; invisible, but, responsible for the most notable property of a magnet: a force that pulls on other ferromagnetic materials and attracts or repels other magnets. Thus, they keep one another into a regular equilibrium that, despite the erratic flow of their lifestyle and the fact that they often seem to repel each other, instead of attract each other, holds a powerfully insurmountable worth.

Dean keeps Sam in vigilance, permanetly alert and ready for battle. And Sam in his turn softens the hard, cutting edges that Dean has developed over the years of behaving as Dad's perfect little soldier; the toughened outer exterior that he has design to keep people out.

Then again, if Sam could say so himself, he had already been pretty sharp to begin with (your dad thrusting a gun in your hand, when you tell him about the bogy inside your closet, does that to a boy...) and Sam knows that Dean only ever lets loose of the reins enough to let Sam in. They know these stuff about each other, and, most of the time, this knowledge translates itself into reciprocal understanding.

These small concessions are because of their awareness of one another. And they constitute the reason their existence has become so very codependent . As such, it's not so much who Sam would be without Dean and who Dean would be without Sam, but that they are, and can only ever survive as SamAndDean; entities, that had once existed as individuals, and which, because of what they've been through, have now united and operate as one intact being.

At least that's what Sam has been _trying_ to achieve. He remembers what it's like to be alone. It wasn't until after he came back on the road with Dean, and his brother made him see what it's like to be whole, that Sam realized just how alone he truly had been; even during the time Sam was with Jess.

Dean's stubborness and to some level the instinct to protect Sam, still separates and divides them, and Sam can see this because Dean is cautious around him, watching Sam from inside the secure amid of silence, as he had done when Sam was vacillating between leaving for college or take on the 'family business'. And even though Sam has been trying to reassure the older hunter that he doesn't plan on abandoning him -ever again- he can see and partly comprehent why Dean feels reluctant to believe and accept that fact.

Sam hopes that though it'll take time, soon everything will slid into place and each and every shift in their relationship will simply bring them closer together.

"Stupid men and their recalcitrant emotions." Sam grunted, quietly enough for Dean not to hear him, and banged a hand against his own head.

It's not as much that Sam wants to think about all this shit, all the damn time. It's simply that he can't _forget_ it.

Sometimes it feels like Dean is under Sam's skin; inside his veins. It's like, on every beat of Sam's heart, there's a needle that carves a tattoo there with Dean's name on top of it. And it sucks, but he can't quite reach in there to stop it.

It's like everything around him are running- no, swirling... with a crazy speed. Until they fade into this huge blur, which makes Sam dizzy. And, then, all he can do is surrender; give up, numb his senses, because, if he doesn't feel... he might survive.

Determined to do just that, Sam kept his mouth zipped and got in the car to drive them to a dinner.

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><p><strong>AN: **So, I hope you enjoyed reading... Tell me what you think about it. Part II (and last) is also completed, and will be up soon.


	2. Heart's A Mess

**A/N:** Well, here is part II. I don't know if I'm gonna do a sequel, but I am thinking about writing a companion to this (in Dean's pov). We'll see... Chapter's quote:_ 'Loving someone means taking the risk that they might fuck up your nicely ordered little life.'__ -Mark Haddon, 'A Spot of Bother' _

**Story Details:** There is my first attempt on an erotic scene towards the end of this chapter. It's nothing graphic (actually, it's as vague as they can get).

**Warnings:** Rated M for profanity and **Incest** .

**Important:** Chapter is dedicated to **JamesParker ** and **Twinchester Angel** , my reviewers from chapter one, because... well, just cause I felt like it. *winks*

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><p>Part II: Heart's A Mess<p>

"I swear I don't get you, sometimes. Are you sure?" Dean asked for what had to be the tenth time.

"For the last time, yes, Dean, I'm full." Came Sam's automatic response.

Dean has spend the last 15 minutes or so, asking Sam how is it that a poor chicken salad is enough to provide the amount of calories Sam's ginormous body needs to burn, in order to grant him energy.

To Sam's opinion, the silly question is deliberately playing in a loop, to avoid further discussion of the previous flaming matter. Ie, typical Dean.

Sam has reached his limits, and is seriously considering to beg his brother to shut the fuck up; awkward silence would be immensely preferable, from being required to listen at Dean's bullshit.

"You always were a weirdo with these things, ya know? Dad has been forced to go back to the diner, to get you a salad whenever you refused to eat your burger, countless times. There was more food left for me, though." Dean continued to ramble on and Sam glared at him menacingly. Tuning his brother out, Sam decided to mentally count the rest 7 minutes it would take to get back to their motel.

Sam's sleep hasn't been more than 2 hours consecutive, the last three days. He hopes to pass out in a dreamless slumber tonight, that will allow him to avoid his problems, at least for the next eight hours or so. Well, to be more accurate, Sam wants to escape the root of his escalating frustration.

To be blunt, Sam hasn't get laid in four months (two weeks and five days, but, who's counting?) and that has started to have a negative effect on him.

He cannot concentrate on anything, apart from the presence of his brother around him. Sam's attentiveness is exclusively dedicated to the way Dean acts and moves within each respective area; whether that's a motel room, a street, the car, etc. it has little importance to Sam. He can sit there for hours, simply staring at Dean -like some voyeristic perv-, even if the aforementioned does nothing apart from simply being.

Sam's frustrated because acting like that would have just been normal behavior of a lovestruck young man, if the object of Sam's affection was anyone else besides Dean.

The problem wasn't that Sam was in love with a guy, although that had been a surprise at first; it was that said guy was Sam's brother. That was the disturbing theme of the situation.

Sam wants Dean. _There_, he admits it. See? No requirement of unnecessary force, no irregular breathing, no aching heart, or his chest feeling like it's below the requisite size. Okay, maybe there's a little bit of all that going on right now, but, that's neither here nor there.

Sam wants Dean like he never wanted anything in his life. He wants to trace every toned muscle on Dean's body and lick every inch of Dean's skin. Sam wants to feel Dean's accelerated pulse, to watch as Dean gets lost inside an orgasmic fest, to see Dean vulnerable and open -pun intended, so fucking much- for him; but, mostly, Sam wants to know _he_ is the reason for all of the above.

He wonders what Dean looks like when he cums, if he's a moaner or a screamer and how Sam's name would sound whispered/moaned/growled from Dean's mouth. He muses if Dean's eyes are always as expressive as they are when they hunt or fight, filled with fiery passion. He ponders on how Dean will behave the morning after, and whether he'd woke up unconsciously spooning Sam. He wants to see Dean relaxed, for once at ease with the world around him, an emotion that is rare in the life of a hunter. He wishes for Dean to smile from real, tangible, happiness...

And Sam stops, because he realizes where this whole thing is heading. It's not Dean's body he craves, but his _presence_. He wonders if he can be enough, to fulfill Dean's every need, not so much physically but emotionally.

To put it in simple words, Sam angsts to make Dean _happy_.

And he wants to feel the familiar reassurance it gives him to have Dean by his side, as it always has been since Sam was a baby. No one will ever make Sam feel as safe, protected and loved as he feels when Dean's arms are around him. A fact that is a rare occassion these days, and has been ever since Sam's 16th birthday.

He can't lie to himself justifying (huh, as if the word could apply to this abnormal situation) these thoughts for his brother as 'physical attraction'. How could he, when he has spent his whole life loving Dean?

Sometimes Sam thinks he's going crazy. It's not normal to love someone so much, to need them all the time; but, he doesn't really care. As long as he has Dean, Sam is pretty sure that everything else, normal included, are insignificant. The older hunter is his protector, his hero, his icon, his... everything really.

Sam aches, god he does, to be given a chance or an excuse to sit on Dean's lap again, like when he was a child, if only for a moment, to be hugged tightly and to hear Dean whisper that everything is okay and he'd never let go. Because, in the place where Sam stands right now, metaphorically of course, it's cold, and it's lonely, and it's quiet.

It freaks him out. He has shut Dean out from a huge part of his life, a part that specifically concerns him no less, and he has alienate himself so much that he's unsure whether he can make it back. It feels all kinds of wrong and pointless to be so afar, emotionally, from his older brother.

The temptation to just do it, to indulge in this twisted fantasy, tell Dean everything he feels for him and see what happens, is too much.

It scares Sam how much he needs Dean; It feels like something inside him was ripping him apart by the seams. Of all the things they've seen and done, nothing terrifies him quite as much as that need. It's simply incomparable to anything else. The only thing close, to awake such an intense level of fear, is losing Dean.

The mere thought makes Sam suffer as if someone is torturing him. He wants to wrap his arms around Dean's body, to envelop him close to his own figure, tightly enough to meld their bodies and re-shape them together as one unity; maybe then, Dean will become a part of Sam and no one will ever be able to separate them.

He can't do it though, nothing of the above, because Sam knows it won't give him what he wants in the long run, not now, not ever. And so, even if deep down inside he protests for he never gets what he honestly wants, he can't give in. He can't risk for things to fall apart, because, if his longing is driving him mad, losing Dean for a stupid slip up of his tongue, would drive Sam straight to the gates of a mental institute.

So, Sam can't do this. He can't fall face first, on the grounds of his inexcusable desires and hope for something that is so obviously doomed. His life, if that's what hunting ghosts/poltergeists/witches and the likes, and being used from both Heaven and Hell is, then Sam's life is already ugly enough as it is.

He can't play with such odds, not when this involves Dean. He cares too much. There's too much at stake, and Sam knows how this will end. It'll end with vengeful, consuming pain that he won't be able to stand; because this thread of hope, that he's been trying to mend from the pieces it got torn to, when he left for Stanford, is the only thing preventing him from breaking down.

He can't afford to lose that; he can't lose Dean. Sam's life, without him, would be empty.

The only thing Sam can do, at this point, is swallow the lump that has been formed inside his throat and grit his teeth, until his whole mouth trembles from the effort.

Loving someone, wanting them when they don't want you, is like going for scuba-diving with problematic equipment; before you have the chance to realize what's wrong, you are being squeezed under the water's forceful pressure and you're unsure that you'll make it to the surface on time.

Sam felt like he would never be able to take a deep breath again.

Loud whistling, annoyingly close to his right ear, broke Sam from his trance. "What?" he growled at Dean.

"You missed the turn, you idiot! You were supposed to go left one block ago." Dean yelled back, staring at Sam like he was debating with himself whether to exorcise Sam or take him to a hospital to check for head injuries.

Sam wisely remained silent and took the next left turn, to go back up the road. He focused solely on getting the both of them at the motel as soon as possible, and put an end on the torture that was today's day.

Three minutes later, and Sam was already in old, faded sweatpants and sauntering indifferently around the room, with his toothbrush rinsing his mouth, while Dean was standing on a corner like he was the punished family dog.

It was unusual, and Sam was about to ask what Dean's problem is and why he hasn't slipped into something more comfortable yet; Like in a comma -just a fleeting thought-, until Sam noticed how Dean's eyes were nervously shifting between Sam and the door every few seconds.

And, it didn't take more than a minute for Sam, smart as he is, to get why Dean isn't half way out of his clothes by now. Son of a bitch!

"You're going out again." It was a statement, actually make that an accusation, and Sam tried without success to hide his ragged nerves, guessing that Dean had a late-night rendezvous with Blondie.

"So observant, Sammy. You make me so proud!" Dean mocked smirking.

"This isn't a game, Dean." Sam snarled feeling exasperated.

"I know, Sam." Dean retorts sarcastically.

Oh, he knows? How dare he! He has no idea. No fucking idea whatsoever.

"No, you don't." Sam fumes. How stupid is he? "You think it'll be fun to have your dick buried deep inside her throat as she make's you cum, because she's obviously a fucking expert at it, but that's not what you want."

After the momentarily shocked expression, Dean's features twisted in anger. "Ah, yeah? And, since you know me so damn well, what do I want, then?" Dean asked, glaring like a maniac who ponders on the best way to attack his next victim, and Sam almost screamed his opinion right at Dean's face. Almost.

"What do I want, Sammy?" Dean demands irritated.

The nerve of that fucking ignorant bastard! Sam can't say it. He can't handle Dean hating him forever. Damn it, he can't.

"Something you'll never be willing to give up." Sam relents. 'Not for some random slut', he aches to add; but it won't do Sam good, to dwell on the matter.

Sam wants to yell at Dean that, what Dean wants is someone he'd be able to trust, someone that would care about who Dean is as a person, and not as another easily accessible piece of meat. Someone to whom Dean would be able to talk to about his deepest secrets, like his desires/dreams/hopes and someone who will listen to anyfuckingthing else Dean has to say in general.

To hell with it all! Dean needs someone who knows that although numerous warrants have been issued against him, with charges relating to all kinds of crimes one can imagine (including murder), Dean is the most _decent_ guy one can hope to meet in their life.

And it kills Sam that he can't voice that opinion. Because it's the glaring truth, that Dean will refuse to acknowledge, in the conviction that Sam is biased when it comes to Dean (being his brother and all). And so, Sam reluctantly keeps his mouth shut.

Dean glares at him seemingly furious, so much, that Sam wonders for a moment if Dean's gonna lash out and punch him or something; which would be okay right now, anything to distract him from going after the bitch in heat.

But Dean doesn't, lash out that is, -and when the fuck did he learn to control his temper like that? He forces a long breath out of his mouth, turns and leaves, banging the door of the filthy motel room loudly.

And Sam can't move, can't think; can merely stare at the now empty space in front of him. Sam knows he should probably do something, yell something, throw something against the wall, maybe even throw his dignity out of the window and run after Dean. At the very least, Sam should curse that slut's very existence.

But he can't; not for the life of him. Because all Sam can see in his mind right now, is Dean with someone _else_. Dean _not_ with him. And that? Sends Sam on a collision course with an emotional breakdown. And he doesn't recall a more painful image or ever feeling this desperate.

He wants Dean's girl-of-the-night, or whatever the fuck she is, served to him on a silver platter. He wants to stab her with a silver knife and sent her straight to Hell. Alas, Sam can't do that since the skank is probably (Sam will keep his doubts for the time being) not a demon.

Sam knows he's being absurdly jealous for no reason. He knows that there is no one on this earth that can replace Sam in Dean's life. Even if his big brother hasn't said so, Sam knows he holds Dean's heart, soul and mind. And, even so, it stings, like pouring peroxide on a freshly opened wound, it does, that someone will soon be enjoying Dean's body. The thought of someone _touching_ Dean is unbearable; it makes Sam's stomach twist like he's suffering from nausea.

Dean is Sam's, damn it! Even if they haven't spoken properly, since Sam returned on the road with him; that's simply irrelevant. Dean belongs to him, that's the only thing Sam knows. Dean has been his, since the moment John placed Sam in Dean's arms the night Mom died. Dean should be with him.

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, Sam was lying down on his bed restless; his gaze was fixed at the rain, that had started to fall a few minutes ago and was currently rattling mercilessly against the window, when the motel's door cracked slightly open and Dean creeped quietly inside.<p>

Sam hoped Dean was back so soon, because the girl had been worthless in bed. He wished with all his might, tonight's fuck was the lousiest Dean had had in his entire life.

Yeah, so, Sam is a little bitter. Sue him, why don't cha?

"Hey, bud, are you asleep?" Dean spoke in a soothing whisper, careful not to disturb Sam if he was indeed sleeping. Sam's breathing remained steady and regular, as he took all precaution to not move in the slightest, from his position.

Sam had relived the next moments a thousand times. Dean would return from yet another nameless girl, forever unsatisfied and he would spend undefined time (from minutes to a whole hour -yes, it has happened-) whispering apologies to Sam, taking advantage of his brother being unconscious and unable to hear him. Dean is naive like that, sometimes.

Sam would keep himself really really quite, and very very still, because Dean has issues with Sam invading his privacy (among tones of other things, that aren't of importance right now), and the repercussions, if Dean was to catch Sam eavesdropping on him, would be catastrophic.

"Sammy." Dean sighed, "Fucking hell, look at me, I'm pathetic! I keep trying my hardest not to break, but I feel so goddamned weak. I need your help, little brother, I need- I don't know... I don't even know anymore. I feel so fucking helpless, Sam, it's not even funny."

As tears started to fall from his eyes, Sam prayed not to sob. He couldn't understand why Dean was torturing himself like this; or why he was torturing Sam like this. Sam wants to react, if only to help his brother realize that he doesn't have to feel guilty, because, they're screwed up but, at least they're screwed up _together_; and maybe that's not ideal either, but, Dean needs to see that he isn't alone in this.

But, what always stops Sam from blurring out to Dean that he's awake and that he can hear him, is that he wants Dean to have the guts to say all these things to Sam's face. He wants Dean to talk about his feelings while he knows that Sam is listening to him. If only because, then Dean will learn that Sam would never make fun of him for being mushy and sappy and chick-flick-moment-y, and Sam will confirm that Dean trusts him.

"Just, please don't hate me, Sammy. And don't leave me again, okay? I'm gonna do better, you'll see. I'm gonna figure it all out, and I'll be a proper big brother for you. I'd do anything for you, Sammy, you know that, right?"

Dean is not good at perceiving discreetly conveyed messages, Sam knows this. So, Sam has tried to show him that he's there, willing and pliable, for anything Dean wants or needs, hoping that, maybe, that'd be enough. Because Dean loves him, and Sam knows this just like he knows his own name; it's a canon, a rule, a fucking law. But, sometimes, Dean forgets; he forgets that Sam loves him too. He forgets that Sam wouldn't want to live without him. He forgets that Sam NEEDS him.

Taking a deep breath, hoping it'll give him courage, Sam turned slowly onto his left side, to face his brother, flinching when Dean gasped.

They stared at each other, both timid to make the first move and eyes locked in an eternal battle, for indeterminable amount of time.

"How long have you been awake, Sam?" Dean asked, a mask of calmness firmly set on his features.

But, Sam was sick and tired of pretense. "Heard everything. S'not the first time, either." He said stoically getting up from the bed.

"I know." He whispered as he started to reach Dean's bed, only to have Dean jump upright and take several steps away.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm gonna go take a leak. Go to sleep, Sam." Dean ordered sternly, looking everywhere around the room but to the place Sam was standing.

Sam gaped at him with disbelief. Enough was enough. This madness stops now. "No, that's it. I'm done! Fuck off, Dean. I've had enough of your crap!" He yelled as he blindly rushed to gather his clothes and weapons.

"What do you think you're doin'?" Dean asked him, sounding alarmed.

Sam paused and looked straight at Dean's eyes. "I'm leaving. If you don't want to trust me, with what's happening between us, then I won't fucking force you to do it!" He sneered, speeding his moves. He had to get out as quickly as humanly possible. That, or any minute now he was going to break down crying.

"Stop." Dean whispered, and Sam watched from the corner of his eye as Dean wavered on his feet as if he couldn't balance himself.

Sam shook his head negatively. He doesn't wanna go, he has promised that he'd never leave Dean again, but, somehow, lately, staying has become even more hard than leaving.

"Goodbye, brother." Sam said over his shoulder as he stretched out his hand to turn the door's knob.

"No! _Please_."

Dean voiced those two words so brokenly that Sam froze and turned.

"Admit it, and I stay." He said simply, looking at Dean expectantly. After this wild roller coaster ride, the only thing left for Sam to do, is result to cold hearted blackmail. Sam can't understand why everything that involves his family have to be so damn hard.

Dean reached out a hand, aiming for Sam's shoulder, before he seemed to think better of it, and withdrew it back. A movement that others wouldn't think so much of, but that clenched painful claws around Sam's heart. It seemed to mock him; affirming his thoughts, his fears, all the doubts he had into his mind.

Dean doesn't love him enough to finally take the next step. He wants them to continue this twisted version of 'Hide and Seek'. The realization almost brought Sam to his knees.

Gritting his teeth, to keep from screaming, Sam demanded to know if Dean was delaying his departure in vain.

A pregnant pause loomed over the room and Sam stared calculating his older brother. This was Dean's chance to either tear them apart permanently, or tie them tighter together forever.

"I- I wan' us to talk." Dean said quietly and, if Sam was paying attention at Dean's body language he would note somewhat tiredly.

Sam scoffed. "You wanna talk. Talk about what? All the cunts you've been banging? All the useless pussy you've been doing to pass the time? What? Gonna rub it in my face? Is that what you want to talk about, Dean? 'Cause if it is, I'm sure I'd have a much more meaningful conversation with myself and a mirror." That sounds like a great idea actually. Sam can just lock himself in the bathroom and spend an hour -or ten- repeating to his reflection on the mirror that he's a fucking idiot.

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean roared. "Why do you keep accusing me? What are you so angry at me for?"

"Why?" Sam whispered. "Why?" Sam laughed hollowly, choking a little at the tears he couldn't hold back anymore. "Because I can't take it! It's too much!" Sam closed his eyes tightly, suddenly developing a headache, by the truth of his own words.

"Was this what you've been trying to do?" Sam cried. "Make it so hard for me to even stand to be around you? Have you even noticed I'm not your brother anymore? I've become a void carcass that looks like him; that's taken his place. I don't even feel human anymore! I'm just... numb." Sam weakly tried to avoid the hands that reached out to him.

"Don't touch me!" Sam shouted, even as Dean managed to pull him against his chest albeit Sam's desperate struggles of pushing him away. "You've ruined everything!" He accused, punching every available surface on Dean's body he could reach, strongly enough to bruise at first, but, as more tears came, the will to fight his way out of Dean's embrace died out.

"Don't touch me." Sam protested again, his voice weak and pathetic to his own ears. It was as if the anger drained all the energy from his body, and all that was left was the pain inside his heart, which was now shattering into innumerable pieces.

"Do you _want_ me to leave, Dean? Was it better when I was gone? Just say it already, and I'll go! I don't need you..." Sam sobbed, trying half heartedly to escape from Dean's hold.

Sam knew he was being unreasonable, but he couldn't help it. _This_, this wasn't healthy and if it continued, Sam was certain he would do something stupid, or crazy, or both.

"I don't need you! Just like... you don't need me." True. So true, and so difficult for Sam to admit it.

No, Dean doesn't need him, Dean doesn't want him, Dean isn't dreaming about him every night, Dean isn't visualising Sam's face every time he has sex, wishing he was making love with him instead.

"Sam..." Dean sounded lost, his voice breaking with uncertainty on that one syllable. "I- How can you-" He paused, shaking his head, searching for the right words and Sam prayed for Dean to find them, because, if he couldn't and they weren't able to solve this now... Sam was terrified this gap, that had sneaked it's way between them, would just keep growing until they'd be so afar they won't remember how to reach for each other again.

"I'm scared." The voice was so small, so vulnerable, Sam did a double check around the room, almost expecting to see a child who had mixed up the rooms or something. But, they were alone, only him and... Sam sucked in a sharp breath.

"S-scared?" Sam stammered, looking up at Dean. He couldn't believe it.

"Yeah, Sammy." Dean smoothed his fingers inside his brother's hair, as he held him close. "I am."

"Of what?" Sam asked bewildered.

"Losing you." Dean chocked and Sam blinked back his own tears, as he felt something wet falling from above him.

"You are the only person in the world who can make me feel that way, Sammy." He said, making Sam feel helpless. Dean was crying and, as if Sam wasn't angry with him up until a few seconds ago, he squeezed his older brother's body fiercely. Dean shouldn't cry; he shouldn't be the one saddened by Sam's airs and graces.

"But, I can't allow for that to happen. I can't lose you. I won't, Sammy. Ever." Dean denied, his eyes fixed upon Sam's as if trying to pass the message that it was desperately important for Sam to not look away. Dean's fingers grabbed a tight hold on Sam's shoulders, with so much pressure Sam thought he felt it on his bones.

"Because I'm not- I wouldn't know how- I'm not even _Dean_ without you... If you're not with me and if I'm not with you, then everything inside this world are meaningless. Nothing makes sense, if I don't have you to share it with." Dean whispered, jaw clenched as if the concept of his words was hopelessly painstaking to even imagine, his eyes alight with inexplicable emotions.

Sam's hands lifted to grip Dean's, and he smiled sadly as he intertwined their fingers. "Then, stop acting as if you don't understand that you're hurting me, Dean. Stop pretending you don't know how I feel about you. And either tell me to go to hell or... I don't know, but, just- please..."

And just like that, Sam found he couldn't think, as his brother's hands wrapped tightly around the nape of his neck and Dean's lips crashed against his own.

Sam gasped in Dean's mouth. It was like taking a gulp of fresh air, after being under water too long. His brain filled with oxygen, clearing his senses. Dean felt so familiar to him, even though he had never kissed him before. Sam pushed to come closer, greedily inhaling Dean's scent; a mixture of gun oil, leather and -oddly enough- the sun. It made Sam's eyelids flutter with tears. Of all the times he had wished for this moment, nothing could have prepared him for something so... special was so cliche but unregretably appropriate.

At the lack of resistance, the kiss slowed, morphed into something gentler, deeper. One hand moved from Sam's neck, caressing it's way to his cheek, stroking at his jaw, it's owner silently requesting for Sam to relax his mouth furtherly open, so he did, and he found himself lost in raw feeling. Dean was passionate, pushy and gentle at the same time, and Sam couldn't get enough of him.

Sam tuned out his conscience, which was currently screaming inside his head that there was a great _difference_ between having incestous thoughts and actually committing incest. Because, clearly, his conscience had never been kissed by Dean before. Otherwise, it wouldn't possibly be saying stupid things like that, trying to make Sam back out of what was rapidly evolving into the single most amazing experience of his entire life. After what now seemed an excruciatingly long time, Sam finally felt alive.

He hated the thought that Dean had been doing this with all those other people. People who weren't Sam. This, it felt so personal, so fragile to give to someone who wasn't the one you could bestow your complete trust on. It wasn't fair that Sam had to wait so long to have this.

Breaking the kiss, Dean lingered close to Sam's face, brushing his lips against forehead, eyelids, nose, cheeks, everywhere he could reach; whispering so softly against Sam's skin, that Sam couldn't distinguish what Dean was saying.

With sudden insight, Sam realized what had gone wrong, not just with this evening but for months now. Sam had been feeling as though Dean didn't care, not just about how it would affect them if (or when) something like this happened, but, more specifically, he thought Dean didn't care about him; that anyone would do. But, that wasn't how it was at all.

Sam was suddenly glad he hadn't bothered to mask his longing; all the pained looks he often gave Dean or the resentful stares that the recipients of Dean's attention received, because Dean had noticed. And this is where it brought them tonight.

"I'm sorry." Dean whispered against Sam's lips, the stubble on his chin scratching slightly at Sam's jaw. "I'm so sorry, Sammy... I just- I didn't know how to let you in. Not when it could destroy us; not without making sure of what was gonna happen."

Sam gazed at him, at last somewhat appeased. "It's mutual though, what I feel for you I mean, isn't it?" A stupid question to ask, at this point, but he needed Dean to actually say it.

"Sam." Dean leaned back a little, just enough so he could look into Sam's eyes. "We've been dancing around each other our entire lives." He smiled sadly, caressing the side of Sam's face softly. "You know I'm yours, and I know you'd never let me go. And, I hate myself for it, but, if you did... I don't think I could let you. Because I don't want to let you go either."

Sam's next breath filled his lungs with air a little easier. "If I ever did let go, I'd expect you to hold on." He replied softly; just like when Sam had left for Stanford and Dean kept track on him and never really stopped calling; Sam smiled at the thought.

"I didn't mean to make it so hard for you." Dean said as he licked at Sam's lips. "I thought that, if I weren't so close with you, maybe we could learn to ignore this... uh- pull we have on one another."

Sam felt Dean's hands tightening against his back, pulling at the fabric they held within them. "But I can't, Sammy. I wanna take care of you, like I'm supposed to, but it's so fucking hard for me to pull away." Dean closed his eyes, gasping a shaky breath that made Sam desperate to hold him closer. "I need you so much, little brother." Dean shifted to realign himself a little more intimately against his brother. Rocking himself forward in anticipation, Sam was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath followed by a shaky moan.

Sam felt slightly breathless himself, but at the same time no longer so terrified, no longer so alone. He started to move closer, if that was even possible, but a fleeting thought made him pause. Instantly, he wanted to forget it, but, if this was going where he thought it was, Sam needed to know.

"Was she g-good?" Sam murmured tentatively, if not spitefully, vile rising in his mouth and feeling afraid beyond reason, of what he was to hear in reply.

"No." Dean shook his head wildly, not even missing a beat, "She was nothing. No one, ever, meant anything." He whispered back, tightening his arms around his baby brother.

And Sam, god help him, shouldn't have felt so relieved and happy about Dean's answer. He wanted to be vindictive and cruel, because Dean's been an idiot and he put Sam through hell, even though they had been wanting the same thing all along. But, exhaling the breath he had unconsciously held, Sam aloud for his eyes to flutter closed and the echo of a smile to grace his lips. It was okay; Dean was here now, and they would get through this together, as always.

Dean's lips were dragging over Sam's and he was kissing him again, slowly; so slowly... and Dean's tongue was breaking into Sam's mouth, filling it and swirling and blurring Sam's thoughts and everything around him that wasn't his brother. Dean was alluring him into a place where he felt warm, protected and safe. He felt like he belonged there, beneath Dean's toned body, which was flushed against Sam's with just the right amount of pressure.

Dean kept kissing Sam with slow, tender, languid kisses that stretched out like the marshmallows they used to eat as kids, when they were camping to yet another nameless place with their father, because they didn't always had money for motel rooms. Thoroughly and slowly, Dean was claiming Sam's mouth and their bodies, flush and hot, were rolling into each other, rising and falling together in rhythm with their tongues.

Suddenly, Sam noticed they were on his bed and he didn't remember moving, but, frankly he didn't give a damn. All he cared for was Dean's lips and his moves, that were gentle, in a way that Sam hadn't experienced in his brother's behavior for years. And they were warm, in a way that made Sam's spine tingle, made his heart flutter and his chest to feel tight.

Dean sucked Sam's lower lip lightly and released it shortly after. Sam held back a little moan of satisfaction and instead returned the favor by tugging softly with his teeth at his brother's lips. In return, Dean coyly slipped his tongue into his brother's mouth, massaging everywhere the moist muscle could reach, and then it gently retreated.

"Please, don't stop." Sam pleaded with such apprehension it startled him.

"I couldn't, even if I wanted to." Dean's husky voice rose goosebumps on Sam's skin.

And when Dean once again leaned into him, it was more like a series of lingering, open mouthed kisses, that Sam wished to last forever. Dean didn't push or sped the rhythm of their mouths sensual dance. Slow, slow, slow. So much it was almost a torturous pace that cost Sam the ability to think; and that was good because, sometimes, things require feeling, not thinking.

Sam had no idea how long they had continued the exchanging of intimacy, when their lips slowly separated and their foreheads rested against each other. He tried to form a coherent sentence, only to discover that his vocabulary had limited it's sources into four words. Dean, More and Never Stop.

As if he had read Sam's thoughts, Dean leaned in again pressing his mouth into Sam's, tracing the lines of Sam's lips with his tongue; his lips clasping with more demand this time, but still so unlike what Sam would expect from him.

Every time Sam had pictured Dean like this, as a lover, inside his head, he had come up with images of his brother's normally aggressive nature combined with sexual frenzy. Firm, borderline harsh moves, accompanied with hard kisses and rough groping.

And here Dean was, gently undressing Sam, his hands caressing (fucking petting!) every newly exposed sliver of skin; lovingly kissing the path his fingers were mapping, as if he was trying to memorize every part of Sam's body.

Dean's pale green eyes were locked with Sam's, the intensity of them making the heat that had started to pool inside Sam's abdomen to burst into an inferno. "C'mere, Sammy. Need you closer." Dean's next kiss practically smothered Sam.

This, this wasn't fucking. Sam had saw Dean having sex (accidentally, mind you) but, this wasn't it. Dean, even in bed, would be barking orders rapidly, demanding everything to go his way and he wouldn't be the one whom was doing all the work. In fact, Dean would never touch more than what he strictly had to, in order to start the show, and he certainly wouldn't care if the other person got off or not. It would be all about him.

The realization that Dean just might want him as more than just another body to lay with, hit Sam like a ton of bricks, and, after that happened, Sam couldn't believe he ever doubted that he would be as important for Dean as Dean is for him.

"Dean, fuck, Dean..." Sam moaned, looking at his brother, whom was trailing kisses all the way down his abdomen. He could only helplessly watch, as Dean worshiped his body. Sam wanted to move, touch, kiss, fucking reciprocate in some way but he could only tighten his hands on the bedboard for leverage and hold on, because it felt like falling.

But Sam wasn't afraid. There was Dean's voice, low and raspy inside his ear, telling him how much Sam meant to him, how good Sam's body felt around him, how much he wanted, needed, him; whispering that Sam made him feel complete, in more ways than Sam could imagine, and that he finally was where he belonged.

After thorough and careful preparation, Dean was deep inside Sam, but Sam still needed for him to get closer, so close that he wouldn't know where he ends and where Dean begins. For a moment, Sam irrationally thought he was dreaming. And then, Dean gasped his name and Sam realized this was definitely real. "I've got you, Sammy. C'mon, let go, baby brother." And the pressure inside Sam's abdomen was making him delirious. This was finally it.

His climax found Sam with his arms wrapped around Dean, and Dean's arms wrapped around him, both sheltering each other from the world outside. And they were falling inside an abyss, sliding further and further away, until blackness consumed everything else, and all that existed was a moment, where it contained only them two -Sam and Dean, Dean and Sam.

And Sam was almost sobbing from bliss, great waves of pleasure coursing through his entire body, sweat streaming down his torso, and Dean was panting for breath on top of him, and they were rocking together, long, gliding motions that melded them into one, Dean pushing deeply in and out and pouring his very soul inside his brother's body; two lost broken boys, two halves of one soul, trapped inside the most sinful act and, somehow, feeling purer than ever.

Nothing else was on Sam's mind, as they were coming down from the unexpected height, still clutching tightly on each other, but this fitting epilogue -or was it a start?- to their twisted lifestyle; the benediction to come together and unite as one because sometimes, just sometimes, two wrongs can make a right.

Time could stop now, for all Sam cared.

Just like this.

Dean above him, inside him, tangled with him, wrapped around him.

After a few blissful moments passed and Sam had managed to coordinate his breathing, he had to make sure this wasn't a wistful dream of Sam's -vivid when it comes to Dean- imagination.

"Am I gonna wake up alone tomorrow?" He asked hesitantly, as the fear of the aftermath caught up with him. Sam felt Dean's body stiffen, though he didn't move away from Sam's one bit.

"Sam, you're kinda ruining my afterglow, man." Dean teased, but Sam's expression remained serious as he sighed.

Dean's expression twisted with anger. "What do you think, Sam? I sure as hell wasn't gonna risk _us_, only to have an one-night stand with you! My own brother? I would never use you, bud." He said, his voice low, but, a tremble of passion was punctuating his words.

"That's all sweet and great, but it doesn't really work that way. This is a new facet of our relationship, and I _need_ to know that you won't freak out on me. You know what I want, Dean; you and only you. I'd die before I share you, and this isn't gonna change. And if you can't accept that, then this, us, isn't gonna work."

"You know who I am, Sam! I've been putting _you_ first my whole fucking life! Yet, you're still constantly expecting the worst from me. That it even crossed your mind, that I would share you, is extremely insulting!" Sam looked at him dumbfounded, "And even right now as you're thinking 'Crap, he's got a point', you still think you're ultimately right."

Sam was speechless as Dean shook his head disapprovingly. "I love you, Sammy. I love you. You're the one and only person I can say that about." Sam's throat constricted, as tears welled up inside his eyes and he remained silent, not wanting the first time he'd say those words to Dean, and mean them in any way possible, to be with him wailing like a little girl.

"Do you love me?" Dean asked after a few moments of no response.

"Yeah." Sam chocked out the word with great effort, his voice cracking with emotion.

Dean visibly relaxed, hovering above Sam. He pampered Sam's face with small, feathery light kisses. "Then, can we try to go a little easier on each other from now on?" He asked, looking at Sam expectantly.

"Yeah. I think that's a good idea." Sam nodded. He felt Dean's arms tightening around him.

"So, are we okay?" Dean whispered sleepily against Sam's neck.

"Yeah." Sam exhaled, relaxing fully under Dean's body, "Yeah, we're okay." he murmured closing his eyes as he felt Morpheus's familiar call for the first time in months. Sam sighed happily as Dean snuggled more comfortably against him.

This thing between them, right/wrong/whatever, wasn't going to be easy, but, as long as they were in this _together_... Sam was certain they could handle it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** The end... Okay, now, show me some love people! *stares at you expectantly*


	3. Epilogue: Indescribable

**A/N:** I saw this in my sleep last night *shivers* and I just had to write it down. It's too delicious to keep it to myself. Just a little PWP for y'all. Enjoy!

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><p>Dean wiped himself dry and walked into the bedroom. Sam was laying on his stomach, stark naked. He seductively watched Dean, his eyes inviting. Dean could never get enough of that perfect line of Sam's body, filling in all the right places. And those eyes, always warm, caring, and so full of love for him.<p>

Dean sighed deeply. After an entire summer spent on the road, with the regural hunts and the occassional check-in with Bobby, they were finally able to have a little privacy.

"When I see you like_ this_ Sam, I..."

Sam spread his legs a little more, "You what?"

"Damn... you know..."

"Tell me."

"I'll tell you," Dean said, his voice hoarse as he approached the bed.

Sam reached for the lamp on the nightstand, to dim the light a bit.

"Don't," Dean said, "I want it all tonight, to feel you and to watch you..."

Sam wiggled with his backside, purring, "Hm..."

Dean stood at the bottom of the bed, just beneath Sam's legs. He looked leisurly up and down Sam's beautiful body. "If I could swallow you whole... I would..." he said, and brought his tongue to Sam's foot and started to lick from the toes up to the heel, first one foot then the other.

"You like that?" he asked, kissing the path up, licked and sucked the back of the knees.

"Oh, yeah... mmm..." Sam managed in between moans.

Dean lifted his head and looked between Sam's legs at his semi-erect cock, pressed by Sam's body and the bed. So inviting, so alluring, a little more than a red tip peeking out, asking for a kiss... and more. Dean spat on his fingers and gently rolled them over the tip. Sam instinctively spread his legs wider.

The next soft touch of Dean's wet fingers made Sam's cock rock hard, and it was too painful to stay in such a confinded place, so Sam lifted his butt slightly, moaning and grunting, to release himself free from the pressure.

Sam placed his hands on each one of his butt-cheeks and spread himself open for Dean. Dean kissed Sam's long fingers imprinted in his soft flesh, one by one.

"You need me in there, huh?_ Which_ part of me... ? My dick... my finger... or my tongue...?" He asked between kisses, knowing the impact of his words.

"Ton...gue?" Sam panted, sounding something between hopeful and desperate.

"You want that?"

An incoherent groan left Sam's lips. A groan that was a yes impossible to pronounce clearly.

"Move your hands," Dean said, and gently removed Sam's fingers from his body to place his own there, and to spread Sam's cheeks enough to reach with his tongue inside the crack, lightly, quickly and gingerly, to savor Sam's most intimate area.

His hand reached along Sam's legs, to fondle Sam's balls and gently pump along his shaft. Knowing Sam's body so well, he knew his brother was close. Dean was too. Simply touching the body he loved, made him ache to reach the peak of no return.

"Dean... c'mon," Sam whispered invitingly -begging, needing.

"I know, baby," Dean leaned over and kissed him, "I'll give it all to you."

Dean knew that Sam understood what he meant by 'all'. It was not only his body, but also all his love for Sam. It was the joy he felt seeing the effect his touches still had on his brother, the weakness of Sam's legs when anticipating Dean's penetration; every time feeling like it was their very first, all those months back now.

Dean reached for the lubrication he always kept on the nightstand and applied it to Sam and himself, then pressed into Sam's warm hole. He slipped inside easily, both bodies ready for joining, and both already near the edge. Shortly there after, they came simultaneously, spurting out their hot essence.

Dean fell on top of Sam, hugged him and brought his lips to Sam's ear.

"Sammy... I know I don't say it enough, but you know, bud. You always knew..."

"I do, big brother. Me too. Always."

Dean's hug intensified. He'd said it that first time and maybe once or twice later, but he always felt strange to let out the words of loving Sam. He did love him. More than the words could ever express. His heart was Sam's, his thoughts were Sam's and all he'd ever been and had were Sam's.

No words could ever be enough to explain that.


End file.
